Song of Lies
by SamCyberCat
Summary: Before the cat is out of the bag about his plan, Clive decides to have a bit of fun with Layton. Singing and alcohol get involved. Mild Layton/Clive.


**Notes:** Written for a kinkmeme prompt that wanted Clive singing karaoke to Layton. Set during PL3, in a slight AU that implies they spent more than one day in Future London. Heavy spoilers for the third game throughout.

* * *

You had to be really good at lying to do what Clive was currently doing. In order to make other people believe that you're someone who you actually are not, well… Clive wouldn't go so far as to say that you had to believe it yourself, but you had to buy into it just a little if you wanted to make it believable.

So right now he was "Future Luke". He had been Future Luke for many months while he'd been preparing the act, much to the annoyance of Dimitri, but now it was for real.

Because Hershel Layton was not a stupid man. The exact reputation he had was that you couldn't fool him. So, more than a lot of things, Clive wanted to fool him for just a little while if he could.

And although Clive knew this was never going to be easy, he congratulated himself upon just how calm and composed he'd managed to remain from the moment he'd introduced himself to Layton onwards.

As he walked down the darkening London streets (he'd prided himself on getting the night and day system to work well enough to convince the residents), pace quickening with each step, he felt that calm dissolving a little.

"Luke, where are we going?"

He didn't look back at Layton. Right now he wasn't sure if he could maintain his act if they made eye contact.

"I thought I was Big Luke, Professor."

"Since Little Luke is resting back in the hotel, I think it would be rather needless to continue calling you that for the moment," replied Layton, and after a moment's pause he added, "I'm still not sure it's safe to leave him and Flora back at the hotel, however."

"I know my past, Professor, and I think that I'd know if anything had happened to me back then. Besides, that Becky girl said she'd keep an eye on them for us," Clive dismissed. It was pushing it, as far as the lies went, but he knew that nothing would happen to Luke and Flora simply because he hadn't ordered for anything to happen to them. Not yet.

"Very well…" Layton didn't sound convinced, "I should hope this is important enough for you to drag me out here in the middle of the night."

"It's important to me."

That was another lie, it wasn't important at all.

If Layton had any doubt about that, they were confirmed as Clive led him towards the bar. It was a small place, plastered with those tacky neon lights that somehow manage to make any building look even dingier, despite their bright colours. On the inside was the sound of people merrily drinking their day's sorrows away. Like much of Future London, Clive was secretly in awe that he'd managed to make it so convincing that the people who lived here bought into it completely and used it without his prompting.

He could also practically feel the distaste radiating from Layton as the other man caught up with him. This was not a place for gentlemen.

"What are we doing here, Luke? Do you have an informant you want to talk with?" he asked.

"No, we're not here on business," Clive said.

"Then what are we doing at… a place like this?" pressed Layton.

"We're here because for the past ten years I've been fighting you. You've become this horrible being that causes me nothing but trouble. However, bringing the old you to the future has reminded me of what fun we used to have together, solving mysteries and chasing down the bad guys. I missed having fun with you. That's why we're here," Clive answered.

There was a pause that would have contained a sigh if Layton had less manners than he did; "If you know me at all then you'd know that this isn't the sort of place I go to have fun."

"We're both adults now and you don't have to come with me if you don't want to," Clive stubbornly concluded, walking off into the bar by himself.

He stepped away from the door on the inside and didn't even have to count to five before he heard it swing open again.

"If this is what you want, than it would be cruel not to oblige you after what my future self has put you through," Layton said, walking up behind him.

"Great, thanks. It'll just be a few drinks and then we can go back to the hotel," Clive promised him.

"I'm not much of a drinker," Layton argued, leading the two of them to a table.

Clive snorted; "Then you can watch me drink and get very bored."

"Your father would never approve of this, Luke."

"If I remember correctly, he was the one who had a cellar full of ale back in Misthallery." Clive had researched Clark too, just in case.

"Yes, but he always drank in moderation and I expect that he wouldn't want his little boy to start," Layton commented, as Clive ordered himself a drink.

"It's been ten years. Of course my dad wouldn't want me to drink in your time, but he doesn't worry about me so much as an adult. And even if he did, I reckon he'd be more worried about me fighting the Prime Minister than if I have a few drinks in my spare time, wouldn't you?" debated Clive.

"I suppose so. It's just… strange to see you like this," Layton admitted.

Clive took his drink from the passing waitress and sipped it, before darkly replying, "Well, my lessons on gentlemanly behaviour were cut short."

"And I will do whatever I can to make up for what I apparently neglect to do in future," said Layton.

"Just being here right now is enough," answered Clive.

For a while they sat in silence, just listening to the noise of the people around them. Layton was never much of a talker when he could instead sit back and observe the facts presented by his environment, before coming to a conclusion and, as a journalist, Clive had a habit of eavesdropping even when he didn't mean to. If Layton had any doubt about what Clive was saying about this being the future, he would have no choice but to accept it was based on what these people were saying. Because all of the pawns Clive had put in place truly believed they were ten years in the future. The sorts of things they talked about, even everyday things like work, subtly didn't match what the people from the London Layton knew would talk about. It was just off enough to feel like they were from a different time. Not a far away time, but a different one for sure.

Clive had ordered two more drinks just to show Layton that he could, really. He'd been expecting the Professor to give in and take one of them, but when he didn't it left Clive having to drink both of them.

"My word, that's terrible," Clive commented, ending their lengthy silence.

"You shouldn't have ordered it then," replied Layton, with a smug air of I-told-you-so to his voice.

"Not the drink, I mean that," clarified Clive, waving over to where three of the drunken men were wailing a football chant into a microphone, arms around each other and swaying slowly.

"From my experience, karaoke is always terrible," Layton chuckled.

"I bet I could make it not terrible," claimed Clive.

"I'd have to say you've had one too many to drink in that case," replied Layton. He sounded more amused than disdainful, which was a nice change.

For a moment, Clive worried that Layton might be right about that, but he couldn't back down; "When they've finished, I'll prove it to you."

"Don't make a fool of yourself," replied Layton.

"You never stopped me from doing that when I was a kid," Clive reminded.

"And I won't stop you now, just advise you not to do it," Layton said.

Thankfully, Clive didn't have to think of a retort to that one, because the three footie fans made their way off the stage to much cheering from their drunken companions. Before anyone else had a chance to take over, Clive darted from the table he'd been sat at to the stage, grabbing one of the microphones.

There was more general cheering, but then these people would have cheered anything that might prove entertaining to them for a few minutes. Clive, in his not-quite-sure-if-he-was-drunk state, would definitely be entertaining for just a few minutes.

He felt panic flooding into him as he realised he was stood holding a microphone, with no idea what he was even going to sing, and Layton was watching him. He only allowed his eyes to dart that way for a second, but that was enough time to see Layton's own eyes set very definitely on him.

Turning towards the juke box, Clive fumbled through the list to try and find something, anything, that he could remotely remember the words to.

Eventually, he just stabbed blindly at the first familiar song that he saw.

That Old Black Magic.

As the juke box reared to life, Clive suddenly realised his mistake. This wasn't the Frank Sinatra version. He really doubted he would have been able to pull that version off convincing anyway, but anything would have been easier than the jazzy, upbeat music that jumped out of the machine. While he knew there'd been more releases of this song under different artists than he'd had hot dinners, it was just his luck that he'd got stuck with that Louis Prima & Keely Smith version from the fifties. Clive could visualise the two of them flouncing around to the beat in the back of his mind, but that really wasn't helping his situation.

Just sing. Don't think about anything and just sing. Forget about how stupid you look doing both halves of the duet and sing the damn song.

And whatever you do, don't look at Layton.

That proved not to be difficult, as the rest of the crowd roared into life. While Clive wasn't sure if it was because he was doing a really good job or a really bad job, it seemed to be having a positive effect on the punters, with many of them getting up to dance. As they swung their arms around to the beat there was a shout from a waitress, as one of them upset a tray of drinks, but this went largely ignored by the crowd.

The length of the song proved to be the longest and most bizarre two and a half minutes of Clive's life. And he was speaking as someone who'd spent the past day pretending to be a cockney boy from the future.

When it came to a close, the cheers erupted.

"Buy that boy a drink!" someone yelled.

"I think he's had enough drinks for one night."

Clive quite agreed with this and was actually glad to see Layton grabbing his arm and pull him off the stage, even if the disappointed men weren't. The world was spinning. Singing and dancing and alcohol, in Clive's opinion, did not go together. Which is why it was suddenly shocking to him that these three things were very often put together in life.

Before he had time to reflect too much on this, he found himself out in the fresh air of the evening. If only slightly, the air did help clear his head.

"I need to pay for the drinks," he protested.

"Already did that," assured Layton, "You're lucky that our currency hasn't changed in the past ten years."

"Thanks…" Clive mumbled, steadying himself against Layton as they began to walk away, "I guess I proved you right about everyone looking stupid when they do karaoke."

"Quite," Layton hummed, as he felt no need to humour the boy, "But you're not the first."

"Hmm?"

"There used to be… a girl I knew," started Layton, he still didn't feel comfortable telling Luke about Claire, "She was outgoing and wonderful. Sometimes I'd go to bars with her because she liked the atmosphere, even if she wasn't much of a drinker. I think she just liked being around other people. One night, she ended up trying to prove the same thing to me that you did, to much the same results. She sung better than you, but it was still terrible, in a good way."

"Was I terrible in a good way?" asked Clive. He was just trying to make himself feel better at this point.

"Yes, you were," laughed Layton.

He didn't go on to say that Claire had sung the same song that Future Luke had. It was too much of a strange coincidence that it sort of felt unreal. Layton had never in his life compared anyone to Claire or even found anyone that he felt was similar to her. Certainly not the young Luke he knew, who was asleep back at the hotel. But in that evening, this Future Luke's brash confidence had reminded him of the secret side of Claire – the side that only he really knew of and had loved her for. She had not been a meek and dainty little person; she was a brave woman who could, well, give someone a run for their money better than Layton could himself. She was never one to back down from a challenge.

And he wasn't sure how to feel about Luke apparently turning out that way.

"If I'd had a better song…" Clive muttered, snapping the Professor out of his thoughts.

"My boy, you had the best song," Layton confirmed.

'That Old Black Magic' indeed.


End file.
